Brave New Kitty

The very day I posted “When Do You Feel Most Alive?” I stumbled upon an article about already being whole. The article is talking about the same thing I am, but the approach is from a different angle. It says that we are already whole, so our wounds need not define us because they are not our real selves: our Real Selves existed before the wounds came along, and if we can dig deeply enough to realize our inherent Wholeness, we no longer have to suffer.

Sometimes, the biggest obstacle to growth is my own attitude. I had this driven home recently over something so simple I can hardly believe it: making hard-boiled eggs.

I had been making hard-boiled eggs the same way for years; all my life, really, just as I’d watched my mother do it. Stick them in water, bring to a boil, and let them cook until there’s no way they couldn’t be done; at least half an hour to be on the safe side. These eggs always had a strong sulfur odor, and the yolks were always circled with an unsightly green tinge. But I had never thought twice about it. This was how I’d always made hard-boiled eggs, and this was just the way hard-boiled eggs were.

Well, Jim said that was wrong. He said the green tinge and the sulfur smell weren’t necessary, that made a different way, hard-boiled eggs had nice yellow yolks and no overpowering stench. The few times I made hard-boiled eggs for him, he didn’t eat them. I thought he was just being picky, that these traits were an inevitability of the hard-boiling process and that there really was no way to make them the way Jim wanted them. I chalked it up to a difference of opinion (mine being the right one, of course), and we went for years without having hard-boiled eggs in the house.

Turns out I was wrong.

A few months ago, Jim and I were watching a cooking show and lo and behold, a chef showed his technique for making perfect hard-boiled eggs. He described what causes the green yolk and the sulfur smell (they’re related, and what do you know, are the effects of overcooking), and how to eliminate that. Jim went right to the kitchen and made a batch, and they turned out just as the chef said they would: no green yolk and no strong smell. He ate them all up, and asked me to make more for him. (Jim loves hard-boiled eggs.) I tried, but half-heartedly, so some turned out and some didn’t. This was due to my unwillingness to use a proper ice bath to stop the cooking process, which the chef said was essential.

I was annoyed about the whole thing, I’m not sure why, but I didn’t try to make hard-boiled eggs again until this week. Jim had been asking for them, so I decided to give it another try, this time with the right attitude and willingness to do it properly. I found a method on the Internet and followed it exactly, right down to the ice bath. This time, the eggs turned out beautifully–cooked to perfection, with no green yolks, no strong smell, tender whites; perfect in every way.

As silly as this might sound, I got a real sense of accomplishment from learning how to properly hard-boil those eggs. I think this was because I overcame a real blind spot about it, an unwillingness to even consider that there might be a different way to go about it. It was a small thing, but it really made me think about how my own attitude is sometimes the biggest obstacle to learning and growing. I realized that my default stance is often one of closed-mindedness, and this is something I will have to constantly challenge in myself if I want to change it, which I most definitely do. I need to learn how to learn.

This was kind of an unpleasant awareness to have about myself. Making eggs is a small thing, not a big threat to my ego, and so a good window into the awareness. But what other things must I be closed-minded about, and equally closed-minded about seeing the closed-mindedness?

I’m sure there are a lot.

I’m not going to drive myself crazy trying to ferret them all out. That’s a lifelong process, and all I can do is engage with it to the best of my ability. But being honest with myself about my lack of willingness to do so, and making an effort to recognize that lack of willingness in as many of its manifestations as I can, should certainly be beneficial to my overall attitude and ability to keep learning.

All pressure is at bottom a person’s own displaced drive. — Ken Wilber, The Spectrum of Consciousness

In 12 Step meetings and other self-help gathering places, you often hear the phrase don’t should on yourself. That is to say, don’t listen to that hyperjudgmental inner voice that’s telling you you’re doing something wrong or bad when you’re not. This is sound advice, particularly for those of us with an overdeveloped sense of responsibility that comes from growing up in an invalidating environment.

Even so, I never really liked the phrase. I’ve always thought that it was used far too much as an excuse to exercise narcissistic desires that had little to do with becoming a more whole, more content person. And all too often these narcissistic desires were about ignoring other people’s feelings, which is never good for either end of the interaction. (This is not to say you don’t sometimes hurt people, but if you do, it should be done either inadvertently, or with a great deal of consideration as to why it’s necessary to do so.)

In this past couple of weeks, I’ve found it impossible to write. Moving has consumed all of my mental, physical and emotional energy. It shouldn’t be this way, I kept thinking. I should be able to focus on more than one thing here! It’s just moving! It’s a good thing! What’s the big deal? But every time I thought about writing, I felt like an empty bucket; there was just nothing there. I felt terribly guilty, but I simply couldn’t muster the drive to do anything about it. Then a few days ago, as I was ruminating on how I should be able to write through this life change and I should have more self-discipline and I should be more focused, I had a sort of epiphany about the whole thing. The shoulding wasn’t at all about what I thought it was. It came from an entirely different place, not the hypercritical inner voice of judgment, although that is how I experienced it.

First of all, I realized, some shoulding is good. I should eat healthy food, I should make it to work every day, I should sacrifice some of my wants for the sake of my children. I also should work toward ever-increasing levels of self-love, self-acceptance, self-awareness, and forgiveness. So the act of shoulding in itself isn’t necessarily bad, and to believe that it is is to throw the baby out with the bathwater. A strong moral compass requires a fair amount of self-discipline and the willingness to do what you believe to be right even when you would rather not. Sometimes, that inner critic is very right.

But this wasn’t about moral choices because there were no decisions to be made, nothing involved but my own confusion and distress. With that thought, I became aware that I was having a shadow experience. The feeling of pressure, the uncentered anxiety, the sense of emptiness and disconnectedness from myself–all are indications that a part of me I was unaware of was running the show, and the real reason I wasn’t able to write. I remembered reading Ken Wilber’s “Integrating Your Shadow,” a chapter in the book “The Spectrum of Consciousness.” He writes here that if we’re having a shadow experience, excitement will feel like anxiety, and that it always feels like pressure coming from an external source. This is because it–the feeling, that is–is disowned; I am unaware of the feeling I am having or that it is something I myself am doing.

I realized then that I wasn’t so much stressed as excited. Even though I wasn’t fully aware of it, I was enjoying the move on every level, from the physical exertion to the feeling of reorganizing and shedding old belongings, to the mental challenge of organizing and arranging the new place–the beautiful, perfect place I’d been searching for for almost a year, the place that met all of our needs so perfectly and in such style that I am still having trouble believing that such a place actually exists and that I found it.

Why was moving a shadow experience for me? And why did it keep me from writing? Well, I can’t be entirely sure on the first question, but my guess is that I still have trouble allowing good things to happen in my life. Not all good things, but some, and for reasons I don’t understand, living in a beautiful place sets off a lot of triggers for me. That little kid inside me who still feels undeserving didn’t know how to cope with the feeling of upward mobility. Or maybe the general stress of moving coupled with this sense of being undeserving was a double whammy that set off an emotional chain of events I couldn’t deal with–so I disowned them. The reasons it kept me from writing are much simpler: repressing and disowning feelings requires a lot of energy, not leaving room for much else. But the even bigger reason was, as I already stated, that because I was disconnected from my self, I had nothing to write about.

I’m a little bit sad that I missed out on the pleasure of fully enjoying this move. But I’ve reached a place now where I’ve been able to pause, reflect, and enjoy this good thing happening in my life, no questions asked, no waiting for a shoe to drop (well, almost none). And really, what a small price to pay for such a profound awareness! That I can, after all this time and work and growth, still be so distressed about feeling good that I can be seduced by my shadow to avoid it. Oh, I don’t mean to imply that I thought I’d reached a state of mental health beyond such fallibilities; far from it. But I really did think I had too much self-awareness to succumb to such an iron shadow grip on my psyche. So this was a humbling experience, but more importantly, it was a great lesson in shadow awareness: when the shoulding doesn’t involve a moral dilemma, and it isn’t about rationalizing self-indulgence, then it’s probably about shadow.

What a powerful tool! Being able to recognize this is like having my own personal commentator on my behavior. In Integrating Your Shadow, Wilber says, “The wise individual, then, whenever he feels some sort of pressure, learns to use those feelings as a signal that he has some energy and drive that he is presently unaware of. He learns to translate ‘I feel pressured’ into ‘I have more desire than I know.’ Once he realizes that all feelings of pressure are his own unheeded drive, he can then decide afresh whether to act on his drive, or to postpone acting on his drive. But either way, he finally knows that it is his drive.” This was almost the exact experience I had, and quite validating to read it from an author I have huuuuge respect for. And now I’ve formalized it into a tool of self-awareness, one I can use whenever I’m aware of pressure, of shoulding myeslf when there is no clear reason to be doing so.

I wish I didn’t still struggle so much with good things happening in my life, but I think it better to accept reality and look instead for the possibilities that adversity brings. Otherwise I spend my life trying to escape who I am, shoulding on myself when I could instead be learning about who I am and what makes me tick. The shadow is a powerful force, and I am happy to be a little bit better acquainted with mine.

I’m taking a week off to move. Namaste!

And while we’re on the topic of staying present…let’s talk about the “drama queen” phenomenon. We all know people whose lives seem to be in constant chaos, who jump from one crisis to the next, who never seem to have any peace of mind. They fret and complain about everything wrong in their lives, but when offered viable alternatives to the chaos (”break up with the insensitive boyfriend,” “don’t spend as much time with your family,” “stay out of your neighbor’s business,” etc.) their eyes cloud over and they change the subject, and the next time you see them you hear new versions of the same old problems, ad infinitum. Certainly this can be tedious, but if you look below the surface, you can see how such behavior is an effective self-soothing strategy. People do this as a deliberate, albeit unconscious, way to avoid being present with themselves. Maybe not surprisingly, I knew a lot of people like this in 12 Step groups. I’m not picking on sober people, having been one of them; maybe because of the intimate nature of meetings, it was just more noticeable. In any case, there were a lot of people who were able to hang onto sobriety by their fingernails while everything else in their lives continued to fall apart. It took me a long time to figure out why they liked things that way.

Action junkies are a similar phenomenon. You know, people who like to live from one adrenaline rush to the next. They’re always looking for excitement in any form that keeps them conveniently distracted from their inner world. This is not to say that all adventurous people are avoiding being present with themselves. But if a person is focused on activity to the point that they’re restless and agitated without it, then there’s a good chance this is what’s going on.

What do I mean by “being present with yourself,” and why do people avoid it? Being present with yourself means that you’re able to quiet down, be with yourself, listen to your inner voices. That you can spend silent time alone, contemplating, writing, meditating, moodling, and be content. Perhaps most importantly, that when you do this, you can deal with what comes up, no matter what, and not run for the hills.

Why do people run for the hills? Because the inner world is not always pretty. Sometimes it’s rather ugly, sometimes unnerving, sometimes downright terrifying. If you don’t like what you see or don’t know how to deal with what you see, one solution is to avoid looking. This is particularly true for people with traumatic pasts, and why I think so many sober people surround themselves with chaos–the chaos feels better than the fear, anger, and anxiety they can no longer douse with chemicals. Seen in this light, who can blame them?

Distracting yourself from yourself is a difficult thing to un-learn. If you start repressing feelings as a child because they’re too overwhelming to deal with (which is a normal reaction in many circumstances), such repression becomes second nature by the time you’re an adult–part of the backdrop, knee-jerk, normal way of dealing with life–hard to do it differently when you can’t even identify what “it” is!

We all do this to some extent–it is not possible to be human and not have some blind spots. Total self-awareness is an unttainable goal, a continuously moving target, and this is as it should be if we are growing and changing and engaged with life. But there is a vast difference between making an effort to know yourself to the best of your ability and avoiding that process. I am grateful to say that I chose the former, and as scary and painful as it has sometimes been, I haven’t regretted it for a moment, not even when I was going through the worst of it, and not even when I have to think about unpleasant things I’d rather avoid.

12 Step statistics say that less than 10 percent of people who seek sobriety manage to keep it for more than a year. I believe this is because once those deep, repressed feelings start coming up, few people have the resources to stay present with them. I know from personal experience that it can be excruciating. For me, it felt like death–like I would literally die if I allowed myself to stay present with those feelings. Holding my ground was, I believe, one of the bravest things I ever did. I was very, very fortunate to have a good support system by this time, a therapist I trusted (not everybody needs this, but I did), and a natural ability to comfort myself (although I have no idea where that came from). Without such support, people choose avoidance, and again, I can’t blame them in the least.

But what a sad choice! Staying present with scary feelings is the very essence of authenticity. The greatest mythology of the world is metaphor for this “dark night of the soul” experience. The slain dragons and holy grails and tests of mettle–all are depictions of the inner journey, the greatest, scariest, bravest, most exhilarating adventure any of us can ever undertake. Jumping out of a plane literally offers a few minutes of adrenaline thumping excitement, but jumping out of a plane figuratively offers a lifetime of adventure and potential.

Being a drama queen or an action junkie keeps you from being present with yourself and therefore, from your own authenticity. I can think of nothing sadder, because being present with yourself is really all there is. If you can do that, everything else will more or less fall into place, while if you can’t do that, nothing will ever fall into place. You’ll be forever in that place of crisis or distraction, wondering why you’re always guessing at what normal is and why you feel like an observer in your own life.

First, you can tell a person’s maturity level by how well they listen in general. Are they usually available for you? Do you feel comfortable talking to them, and know this is a person you can count on for good counsel and feedback? If so, then this person probably has some stuff figured out.

“2010″ may not sound futuristic and far away to you, but for those of us born in the mid-20th century, it sounds quite surrealistic. Anyway, here we are, and to celebrate, I thought I’d share some quotations I like. Notice they are all about character, which I’ve been thinking a lot about lately: isn’t character, in a nutshell, what we’re all trying to develop and improve upon? I know I certainly am. There’s nothing like a little inspiration to stay on track, so here you go, and here’s wishing you all the very best of everything in the year to come!

The farther behind I leave my past, the closer I am to forging my own character. — Isabelle Eberhardt

Character isn’t something you were born with and can’t change, like your fingerprints. It’s something you weren’t born with and must take responsibility for forming. — Jim Rohn

Our character is basically a composite of our habits. Because they are consistent, often unconcious patterns, they constantly, daily, express our character. — Stephen Covey

It was character that got us out of bed, commitment that moved us into action, and discipline that enabled us to follow through. — Zig Ziglar

A man’s character may be learned from the adjectives which he habitually uses in conversation. — Mark Twain

Persistence is to the character of man as carbon is to steel. — Napoleon Hill

People grow through experience if they meet life honestly and courageously. This is how character is built. — Eleanor Roosevelt

When wealth is lost, nothing is lost; when health is lost, something is lost; when character is lost, all is lost. — Billy Graham

Character is much easier kept than recovered. — Thomas Paine

Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths, but the final forming of a person’s character lies in their own hands. — Anne Frank

Faced with crisis, the man of character falls back on himself. He imposes his own stamp of action, takes responsibility for it, makes it his own. — Charles de Gaulle

What a man’s mind can create, man’s character can control. — Thomas Edison

If I take care of my character, my reputation will take care of me. — Dwight L. Moody

The discipline of desire is the background of character. — John Locke

Sound character provides the power with which a person may ride the emergencies of life instead of being overwhelmed by them. Failure is… the highway to success. — Og Mandino

Industry, thrift and self-control are not sought because they create wealth, but because they create character. — Calvin Coolidge

An individual step in character training is to put responsibility on the individual. — Robert Baden-Powell

Leadership is a potent combination of strategy and character. But if you must be without one, be without the strategy. — Norman Schwarzkopf

Character is the result of two things: mental attitude and the way we spend our time. — Elbert Hubbard

The consuming desire of most human beings is deliberately to plant their whole life in the hands of some other person. I would describe this method of searching for happiness as immature. Development of character consists solely in moving toward self-sufficiency. — Quentin Crisp

Of all the properties which belong to honorable men, not one is so highly prized as that of character. — Henry Clay

Our character is what we do when we think no one is looking. — H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

If you don’t have enemies, you don’t have character. — Paul Newman

People with courage and character always seem sinister to the rest. — Herman Hesse

I have a friend who is trying to make it in stand-up comedy. The other day, he told me he was certain he’d be making his living as a comic in less than five years.

Wow.

Such brazen self-confidence has always astonished me. I don’t mean to pick on my friend. He’s just started in this field, he has a real talent for it, he’s excited, and he’s young. More importantly, he has an innate right, as do all of us, to be confident in himself. Still, his display of confidence bothered me a little bit, and I got to wondering why. Is it the foreignness of it because it’s something I’ve always struggled with (and for)? Is it envy? Or is it something else altogether?

To answer these questions, I turned once again to a book that has helped me clarify my thinking on many matters. In Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert Pirsig wrote about the classic and the romantic views of the world. Basically, the classic view is concerned with function and technique (science), while the romantic view is concerned with form and style (art): a romanticist can ride a motorcycle, but only a classicist can fix one. Pirsig dissects these ideas in painstaking detail in an effort to understand the hostility and mend the schism that he believes has occurred between these two world views.

My theory is that self-confidence can be classic or romantic–rooted either in factual assessment or in idealized notions–with the most desirable kind containing elements of each. If you’re completely focused on facts and analysis, you miss essential emotional aspects, and if you’re completely focused on an idealized notion of your abilities, you’ll never fully develop the abilities you actually have. Thus, a good goal for developing self-confidence would be to develop skills, but also to believe in your capacity to develop skills. Both are necessary.

Few people are blessed with naturally well-rounded self-confidence. Most of us tend to err toward one extreme or the other (this is true for many other things, as well). Since the romantic view is the less analytical, more superficial of the two, it is the far more common one. And it is important–important to present yourself well, to convey positive messages to the world about your abilities and talent, to make yourself available to all the positive energy you possibly can. But this is only part of the picture. If romantic beliefs aren’t rooted in a critical assessment of ability, they’ll be too fragile to withstand the pounding of the cold, harsh world. So while both classic and romantic views are necessary for a well-rounded confidence, the classic has to come first. All romantic beliefs have to have some basis in fact, some realistic foundation upon which to rest.

There are a lot of self-help books out there claiming to have the secret to self-confidence, to believing in yourself, to all the amorphous ideals we attribute to successful people. But it is specifically because these ideals are amorphous–because they are the romantic side of the equation–that the authors are able to make the claims that they do. Most of these romantic ideas can’t be submitted to rational scrutiny or are simply refurbished statements of common sense. (In fact, if you’ve ever wondered why self-help books make sense when you read them but don’t really help you all that much, it’s because they focus on romantic intangibles, which are necessary for personal change–but not at all sufficient.) Selling self-confidence is big business; we all want more of it. But all the reading in the world can’t create confidence. It can only offer new perspectives, thereby preparing us for the real work: gaining knowledge and experience in our chosen field, which can only be gotten by the sweat of the brow. For that, there is no shortcut and no substitute.

So getting back to my friend, is his self-confidence overly romantic, not based on a firm foundation of self-analysis, hard work, and planning? The truth is I don’t know, and I suppose it’s beside the point anyway. His statement just bothered me, and the reason for that, I realized, is entirely personal (as being bothered always is!): I tend to err the other way, to the classical side. The voice in my head tells me that if I’m not an absolute expert at something, I’d better not make any claims of confidence whatsoever. It’s always seemed delusional to me when people profess unwarranted (in my opinion) confidence. This may have come from having overly critical parents or it may be a way I protect myself from rejection by not putting myself “out there” in there in the world. Or it may be my hyper vigilance against true believerism, this time a bit misapplied. I don’t know, but there’s definitely a balance to work toward.